


Nine Ladies Dancing

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Serena Campbell’s yearly carol party is the crowning jewel of the Holby City holiday season - and this year's holds a special surprise





	Nine Ladies Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> My final entry in the _Twelves Days of Christmas Ficfest_! Huge thanks to belligerently for putting this all together and for dragging me kicking and screaming through getting this done.
> 
> As always, shoutout to matildaswan for her mad beta skills and ddagent for the idea that pulled it all together. <3

Bernie double checks that her car is locked as she sets off down the walk, her breath curling into clouds of mist in the cool, damp evening. She’d had to park a block down and around the corner, as the entire street outside of Serena’s house is currently lined with cars.

While many people at the hospital speak fondly of Christmas gatherings at Albie’s, or the fancy charity dinner the board of trustees hosts every year, the crowning jewel in the Holby City social season is, by far, Serena Campbell’s yearly carol party. 

Known for excellent food, free-flowing liquor and festivities that last far into the night, _this_ is the one invitation everyone covets. The party starts with a luncheon and runs until the last person stumbles home in the wee hours. People start negotiating, trading schedules and arranging cover months in advance, all throughout the hospital. And, in a show of her loyalty and gratitude, Serena calls in favors and wheedles promises, utilizes a carefully tended locum budget and an organizational system that borders on magic (the planning spreadsheet alone is enough to give Bernie a migraine), to ensure that every single staff member of her team on AAU has the chance to attend, or at least stop by for some nibbles and a cup of her famous holiday punch.

Bernie had volunteered to cover most of the day, letting others enjoy their time at the party, arriving late in the evening. Serena fretted that Bernie wouldn’t be able to have any fun herself, but she had insisted that it was only fair, as the newest member of the department, that she be rotated last. And if part of her generosity was motivated by the fact that Jason was staying at Alan’s, given his dislike of crowds and noise, meaning that at the end of the night she would be staying in Serena’s ever so comfortable bed, with both of them off the next day...well, who would blame her?

Still, going to Serena’s house as a guest — a co-worker and nothing more — already feels rather awkward. It hadn’t been smooth sailing right off the bat when Bernie returned from Kiev to stand on Serena’s doorstep with nothing but her apologies and a bottle of wine wrapped in brown paper, but after long nights of intense conversations and promises of transparency, of rebuilding trust, of trying to do better, they are now very much together; spending most evenings with Jason and quiz shows before sharing a bed. Wrapped in nothing but sheets and a duvet and each other, they’ve made promises about honesty and affection which leave a lasting imprint that remains long after their kisses, gentle touches, and soft caresses, have lulled them both to sleep.

Bernie is blissfully happy, happier than she could _ever_ have conceived. The one caveat is Serena’s desire to keep their relationship quiet within hospital walls, to keep _them_ hidden from their coworkers. 

She understands; for all that she puts on a brave face, Serena is still badly burnt by her pass through the Holby City gossip mill, still stinging from the laughter, the taunts, the songs. (When Bernie first heard of what had been said in her absence, she imagined finding out who started that little ditty and hanging them off the edge of the roof in recompense; she still goes back to that fantasy on bad days.) She knows that Serena isn’t ashamed of their relationship, is simply protecting herself from more unnecessary pains, and Bernie respects her desire to keep things quiet, at least until a little more distance separates them from the drama.

Still, it will be odd to have to pretend in a house where she’s come to feel almost at home.

Pushing through the familiar front gate, she can already hear music humming from inside the house, warm light spilling out into the yard and every window full of faces laughing and talking. She passes Hanssen on the walk, the volunteer for the overnight shift, and they exchange happy Christmas wishes before he disappears into the night.

Compared to the cool of the evening, stepping through Serena’s front door is like walking into a furnace, a veritable wall of heat and light and sound. There are people _everywhere_ : lounging in the front hallway, seated on the stairs, milling about through every doorway. 

Bernie manages to find a place to hang her coat and starts to work her way through the crowd. It’s no mean feat, given how tightly packed everyone is.

She ducks a head into the sitting room, sees Dom and Zosia giggling in a corner, watching as Morven, Jasmine, Lou and half a dozen nurses perform some sort of coordinated dance routine to the holiday song blaring from the stereo. Slips away lest anyone notice her presence and try to rope her into participating. 

She’s halfway up the hall when a loud voice calls to her over the hubbub.

“Aye, aye, Major!” Fletch elbows his way through a group of porters, eyes bright above his scruffy grin, holding two glasses of bright red liquid. He pushes one into her hand, claps her on the shoulder. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

“Well someone had to do some work today.” She raises her glass to tap it against Fletch’s and takes a healthy swallow. The punch is delicious, not too sweet, barely boozy, just the slightest burn going down. She eyes it in surprise.

“Don’t let the first sip fool you, it’s deceptive,” Fletch warns with an exaggerated wink. “Serena’s holiday punch has been classified as a controlled substance in at least three counties. Me and Raf had to carry poor Arthur home the first time he drank it.”

“So noted,” she nods, already feeling spreading warmth in the pit of her stomach. Glancing around, she frowns, tries to keep her voice casual. “So where is…” The words die on her lips as Serena steps out of the kitchen, looking like something out of a dream.

Bernie is in far more trouble than she’d expected. 

They had planned for tonight: talked about circulating through the crowd, not spending too much time together, avoiding making what Jason so succinctly referred to as “heart eyes” at one another. In all of their planning, the one thing Serena had neglected to mention was that she was going to be wearing _a dress_. 

A bottle green dress so dark it is nearly black crisscrosses around her torso and plunges into a vee that shows a not insignificant amount of skin that comprises one of Bernie’s very favorite places to be, edged in delicate lace which softens the dark color against her pale skin. A wide satin sash emphasizes the narrowness of her waist, above a skirt that drapes perfectly over the curve of her hips, falling just below her knees to swish around her legs as she walks. 

Serena is gorgeous. Stunning. _Breathtaking._

Bernie is _fucked_.

She can already feel her heart pounding, sees Fletch looking at her oddly, likely because her jaw is currently hanging somewhere near the floor. She tears her eyes away from Serena, tries to bring herself back under control.

“You weren’t kidding about the punch,” she jokes, giving Fletch a weak smile.

A hand slides across her lower back, palm warm through her thin white blouse; when she turns, Serena is right there, well within Bernie’s personal space. She has a nearly empty glass of punch in her hand, her bright eyes, and flushed cheeks indicating that it’s hardly her first. Bernie remembers Serena saying that she usually sticks to wine and avoids the punch after learning some lessons in her youth about the way hard liquor affects her libido. Serena leans in even closer, a crooked smile on her lips that Bernie’s gotten used to seeing, only in far more private circumstances.

_Yep, proper fucked._

“You made it!” Serena’s voice is rich and teasing as she presses a kiss to Bernie’s cheek, close to the corner of her mouth, lingers a beat too long. The heat sinks into Bernie’s skin like a brand; she pulls back still feeling an imprint of the luscious red lipstick Serena likely left behind. 

She sees Fletch watching them out of the corner of her eye, an all too knowing look in his eyes. Bernie forces herself to take a step back.

“It, ah, it looks like quite the turn out,” Bernie stammers, trying to distract Serena from her disappointed pout. She doesn’t quite manage to distract her focus.

“I’m just glad the most important person has arrived,” Serena says, eyes glinting as she makes to once again invade Bernie’s personal space; Fletch’s head swivels between them like a cat at a tennis match.

“Serena!” She turns at the sound of her name, gets caught up in greeting new guests, moving away as she attends her hosting duties.

Bernie breathes a sigh of relief as Serena vanishes into the crowd, draining her punch in a gulp, wishes it would do something to cool the heat pulsing through her. She looks back to Fletch to find him still staring at her, mouth opening in a question Bernie knows she doesn’t want to answer. 

“I’m going to find some more punch,” she excuses herself lamely, practically dashing to the kitchen, making sure to avoid Serena on the way.

The crowd is even thicker here, small groups laughing and conversing as they hover around the appetizers lining every available surface. Eventually she pardons herself up to the punch bowl, refilling her cup with the cherry red concoction. A hand lands heavy on her shoulder and she looks up, surprised.

“Ah, Major Wolfe! Merry Christmas.” Ric’s smile is wide and easy, the empty glass in his hand indicating he too is under the influence of Serena’s intoxicating libation.

“Merry Christmas, Ric.” She never would have guessed it when she first came to Holby, but Bernie feels like she’s found a true colleague in Ric. An equal, a friend. Not for the first time, she’s filled with wonder at the home she’s found in Holby City, a growing family she had never expected, all centered around one person.

She steps back to let Ric reach the punch, and from across the house her eyes fall on Serena, her head thrown back in a laugh as she clutches Dom’s shoulder, surrounded by a small group of young doctors and nurses, every one of them looking at her with wide eyes and bright smiles. It’s hard not to think they’re all just a little bit in love with Serena in this moment. It’s a feeling Bernie knows all too well.

“Serena looks lovely this evening.” Bernie jumps in surprise at Ric’s voice, low and close to her ear, cursing as her punch slops over her hand. She fumbles for a napkin, blotting up the liquid before it can drip on her white shirt.

“Sorry?”

“Serena,” Ric repeats. “She’s been looking quite well recently, don’t you think? I’ve been worried about her, but the rough patch she was going through seems to have passed.” His eyes are intent on Bernie, pinning her in place.

Bernie feels her cheeks flush, mutters something noncommittal and turns her face away, takes a deep sip of her punch. 

“The last few years haven’t been easy on Serena. It’s nice to see her happy. God knows she deserves it.” He raises his glass, an edge of steel threading into his words. “I hope it lasts for a good, long while.” The meaning in his words is plain and Bernie swallows against the lump in her throat. She may have begun to win back Serena’s trust, but she knows she burned more bridges than that when she fled to Kiev.

“I hope so, too.” Her voice is hoarse, but the words are firm, as certain as her feelings for Serena. Ric studies her for a long moment; she stands fast under the scrutiny. Whatever he’s looking for he must find, inclines his head in acknowledgement and steps away, quickly swallowed by the milling crowd.

Bernie wishes the house were less crowded, wishes she could move from place to place without bumping into bodies, getting pulled into conversations. She’s become so comfortable here so quickly, the home feeling like a natural extension of Serena and her warmth, even before the latest change in their relationship, is far more fond of it than she is her sterile, cookie cutter flat across town. 

She ducks through to the sitting room and finds a sparsely populated corner to lean up against as she sips her punch, taking a moment to regain her bearings. She catches sight Serena across the room, can’t stop her eyes from tracing over her figure; the elegant line of her neck, the slight shadow in the dip of her collarbones, the dexterous hands that can both save a life and make Bernie fall apart, even a hint of the ears that Serena tries her best to cover but Bernie finds utterly enchanting. She realizes she’s been staring too long when she looks up to find Serena watching her in return, an eyebrow raised over dark eyes. Bernie tries to stand her ground as Serena’s gaze rakes a similar path over her, tries to ignore the almost palpable caress, the familiar way what she knows are increasingly filthy thoughts show on Serena’s face. 

When their eyes meet again, Bernie feels herself throb at the heat in Serena’s eyes, desire building thick and hot between her thighs as Serena sips her punch, swipes an errant drop from the rim with her tongue, gaze never wavering.

“Ms. Wolfe!” The moment shatters jarringly as Morven is suddenly in her field of vision, smiling eagerly. It takes everything Bernie has not to snap at the F1. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Bernie’s barely recovered her bearings when a woman is practically shoved before her; clearly younger, in her thirties if Bernie had to guess, red hair cropped to her chin, framing bright blue eyes flitting about nervously behind tortoise shell glasses. She’s wearing a festive red and green plaid shirt beneath suspenders covered in snowflakes, her hands shoved into the pockets of her slim trousers. Bernie feels like maybe she’s seen her before - up on Darwin, perhaps? - can’t for the life of her think why Morven is so keen to make an introduction.

“Ms. Wolfe, this is Bex. She’s a new nurse at the hospital.”

“Nice to meet you.” Bernie takes the hand extended to her and shakes it, still feeling a little befuddled.

“Likewise.” Bex gives her a pretty smile, seems to relax a little. Beside her Moven looks like a child on Christmas morning, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She grabs Bernie’s glass from her hand, takes Bex’s right after.

“Why don’t you get to know each other while I get some more punch? I think you’ll find you have _a lot_ in common.” Moven gives an exaggerated wink before practically skipping from the room, leaving a very confused Bernie behind. She turns to ask Bex what Morven means, sees the fine blush staining her cheeks, her eyes looking everywhere but Bernie’s and it suddenly clicks into place.

“Oh, uh, right.” She feels the heat in her face, climbing up the back of her neck, wonders if she can assign Morven to scrubbing bedpans and treating anal prolapses until the summer.

“Sorry.” Bex seems as mortified as she is. “Morven set this all up, I didn’t...I mean…” Her voice has a faint northern lilt, reminds Bernie a little of Alex. She clamps down on that thought immediately. “Still, it’s is nice to meet the great Ms. Wolfe at last. Morven thinks the world of you, you know.”

Bernie’s hands find their way to her pockets, feeling awkward with the attention. “It’s Bernie, please. And Morven, well, she’s a sweet girl.”

Bex’s smile brightens, wide and friendly, a flash of teeth showing. “Bernie it is then.”

Surprisingly, Bernie does find she has things in common with the nurse, stumbling on a shared interest in lacrosseonce the initial awkwardness has passed. Bex is smart, witty, makes Bernie laugh more than once, even drawing out the goose honk, sounding loudly over most other conversations in the vicinity. 

Bernie is just working up to another bark of laughter when she feels a presence by her side, turns to find Serena watching her, eyes unreadable.

“S-Serena!” She tries to swallow her laughter, bring herself back under control. Serena’s eyes stay locked on her for a beat, then the moment passes as she turns to face Bex, a bright smile on her lips, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she holds out her hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure. Serena Campbell.” Bex shakes her hand enthusiastically.

“Bex Miller, nurse on Darwin. Thanks so much for the invite, Ms. Campbell. This party is banging!”

Serena just hums, eyes glinting as she looks between them. “I see you’ve met my co-lead.”

“Yeah, Morven introduced us.” Bex leans close, pressing her shoulder tight against Bernie’s arm, winks at Serena with a broad smile. “On account of us both knowing Harold.”

Bernie frowns, turning over names in her mind. Was Harold one of the porters? Maybe that new bloke in the ED? She’s about to ask, when she notices the sparkle in Serena’s eye, thinks she’s missed a reference of some kind, putting her even more on her back foot in this situation. She ducks her head awkwardly, feeling pinned between Bex’s increasingly soppy smile and Serena’s laser-like intensity.

"Oh Bernie, you know Harold too?" Serena asks, all artfully feigned innocence and Bex blinks, her eyes wide, like she's afraid she's just outed Bernie to her co-lead, not having been around long enough for gossip.

"I, uh, hm," Bernie says eloquently.

"Harold, they're..." Serena starts and Bernie tries to fill in the blank, comes up with nothing.

"Lacrosse players!" Bex inserts awkwardly, trying to salvage this, and Serena laughs, laughs loud and long, far more than the joke merits.

Bernie is absolutely sure she's missed something now. "Did you ever see the movie _Carol_?" Bex asks gently, trying to guide Bernie to the right answer, trying to make a moment of connection between them. Bernie can't even think of the last time she went to the theater, can't remember a time she watched anything not tucked up beside Serena on her couch. 

She's saved from answering by the jingle of the piano, everyone shuffling and bumping to get closer to the instrument, Ric smiling from his place on the bench. Bernie ends up leaning against the black laquered wood, a clear view of Ric and the rest of the room, with Serena and Bex on either side, both pressed close by the crush of the crowd. 

Bex has a sweet soprano, but it's Serena's lusty alto that Bernie can't get enough of. Ric is playing all the classics, "Silver Bells," "Deck the Halls" — and on "don we now, our gay apparel" Bernie distinctly feels Serena's hand on her backside. She turns to glare at an unrepentant Serena, eyes wide with feigned innocence, but is drawn away by something that Bex is leaning close to whisper in her ear. Has to force herself to pay attention as Serena’s hand slips inside her back pocket.

Singing is hardly Bernie’s forte — her children used to tease that she couldn’t carry a tune if it was in a backpack — but surrounded by this group, people who have somehow become more important to her than she could have ever imagined, the sound is sweet and perfect. 

It catches her off guard, makes her think of her parents, of her children, of all the Christmases she's missed, and it's a bit too much. She stumbles away from Serena, from Bex, and pushes her way through the bodies clogging the hallway, straight through out onto the front step, taking a deep, gasping breath as she closes the door behind her. The air is blessedly cool against her burning cheeks and she takes another shaky breath, trying to calm the racing of her heart. 

She’s fumbling in her pocket for her cigarettes when the door cracks open behind her. She turns to see Serena step out, pulling the door shut behind her. Barely has time to breathe before Serena moves close, hardly any space between them, her eyes huge and luminous in the moonlight.

“Hi,” she says, her voice low and clear in the stillness, feels a world away from the noise of the party inside.

“Hi.” Bernie’s voice cracks a little. She’s still not used to being on the receiving end of Serena’s gaze up close; knowing all that heat and intensity is meant for her is overwhelming. 

Serena steps closer, the warmth of her bridging the last inches between their bodies. “I’ve missed you tonight.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes tracing over Bernie’s features. There’s no mistaking the hunger in her tone. 

Bernie clenches her hands into fists, tries to wrest herself back under control, even as she can feel the wetness pooling between her thighs.

“Serena, we can’t. Your guests…” The words come out tight, tremulous and utterly unconvincing; from the glimmer in her eye, it’s clear Serena knows she’s already won.

“They’re not here.” Serena’s hands skim up along Bernie’s arms. “It’s just you...and me…” Fingers meet at the base of Bernie’s neck, tangling into the blonde curls at the nape. She looks up for a moment, smile turning wicked. “And the mistletoe.”

Bernie follows her gaze, sees the sprig of green leaves and white berries hung from the lintel, tries to resist, to hang on to her last shred of control. “Serena…”

“Shut up and kiss me, Bernie.”

Never one to disobey an order, Bernie relents, barely holding back a whimper as their lips finally meet. Serena’s hands tighten in her hair, the tip of her tongue teasing at the seam of Bernie’s lips, seeking entry. It’s a request Bernie is powerless to deny, has been since their first kiss on the cold floor of Theater 2. She opens to Serena, hands falling instinctively to her hips, fingertips digging into the soft fabric of that incredible dress. Can do nothing but hang on as she loses herself in Serena.

She has no idea how long they kiss, till her lungs are desperate for air, chest heaving and lips swollen, the taste of Serena lingering on her tongue. Serena breaks away, flushed and well-kissed, her eyes heavy lidded and filled with a heat so intense Bernie wonders if she might burst into flames on the spot.

Bernie grapples for some semblance of calm, stops herself from pulling Serena close again. “We, ah, we should probably go back in. Your guests are probably missing you.”

Unfortunately, Serena seems to have no interest in restraint. “Let them miss me, then.” Her breath plumes into the air between them, a curl of warm mist. One of her hands drops to the neck of Bernie’s shirt, fingers brushing against the vee of skin above the first button, each touch like a bright spark of electricity against Bernie’s skin. “Frankly, I can’t wait until they all leave.”

“And,” Bernie swallows hard, steadies her voice, “and why is that?” She knows she should walk away, shouldn’t encourage whatever Serena is thinking. But it’s all still too new, her desire for Serena a constant presence lurking just beneath her skin, coiling and heady and impossible to resist.

Serena hums, leaning in to press her mouth where her fingers were a moment before, warm and wet. “Because then I get you all to myself, in an empty house.” The words vibrate through Bernie’s sternum, Serena’s lips fluttering against the top of her scar. She can’t help her disappointment when Serena pulls away, the space between them suddenly unbearable; breathes deep to shore up her control, missing the wicked glint in Serena’s eyes. 

“And then I can give you your present.” Serena’s fingers alight on her neck, drawing Bernie’s gaze. Her eyes follow helplessly as they slip lower, tracing the deep vee of the dress that has been driving Bernie insane all night. Then her fingers hook beneath the edge of the fabric, tugging it to the side, enough to reveal the creamy swell of skin cupped by sheer black lace.

It too much and Bernie’s careful resolve shatters. She reaches for Serena, a growl low in the back of her throat, pulls their bodies flush and captures Serena’s mouth, pouring all of her frustrated desire into the kiss. Serena’s response is immediate, her pleased chuckle swallowed by Bernie’s eager mouth, one hand returning to its favorite station in Bernie’s hair as the other drags down her back, a hint of fingernails biting through the fabric, eventually coming to rest on the swell of Bernie’s arse with an appreciative squeeze that makes Bernie groan.

It’s like their early kisses all over again and Bernie can’t get enough, tongue delving deep to chase the sweet taste of punch in Serena’s mouth, her hands mapping the curves she hopes she’ll get to spend the rest of her life memorizing; the curve of Serena’s spine, the dip of her waist, marvels once again at the way Serena’s hips fit in her hands like they were made just for her.

She feels Serena pull back and chases her instinctively, brow furrowing, humming her disappointment as she ghosts a kiss against Serena’s lips. Now that they’ve started she never wants to stop kissing Serena, thinks she could happily do this forever, given the opportunity. What she initially takes for little moans, murmurs of desire, suddenly resolve into words in her ears, muffled as they are by the press of her lips.

“Bernie...”

Bernie breaks the kiss, unwilling to put more than a necessary sliver of space between them, a question hovering on her lips. Which is when she notices the warm light spilling over the porch, illuminating Serena’s profile. Heart in her throat, she turns her head toward the light.

The front door is open wide, a stunned Morven resting her hand on the knob. Behind her seems to be everyone they’ve ever known: Jasmine’s eyes as wide as saucers, Raf and Fletch grinning broadly (she thinks she sees Fletch slip some money into Raf’s hand, but after she’s never quite sure), Dom covering his eyes in embarrassment. She sees Ric raise his glass in a toast, the cheeky bugger, and behind him, the pretty young nurse (Beth? Betty?) slinks away.

Bernie’s mind spins wildly, wonders if there’s some way to explain this, to play it off. Just a bit of holiday fun between colleagues and nothing more. She glances down, takes in how tightly wrapped together they are, Serena’s lipstick smudged around her mouth, half of it likely on Bernie’s own lips; she winces when she notices the hand closest to the door is very comfortably cupping Serena’s breast.

Serena just quirks an eyebrow, clearly content to let Bernie squirm, despite this whole thing having been her idea. Bernie can do nothing for a moment but look between the crowd at the door and Serena's smirking face. When she finally finds her voice, out comes a feeble:

“Surprise?”

Serena dissolves into laughter, burying her face into the curve of Bernie’s neck. “I guess that’s let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.” Bernie only nods, still stunned, Serena’s hair tickling her chin. Her arms circle Serena’s waist, palms pressed flat to the plane of her back, feeling the giggles still shuddering through her. 

Pulling herself together, she narrows her eyes and looks at the crowd over top of Serena’s head. “Right then. Back to the party, nothing to see here.” It’s the Major’s voice talking and their coworkers fall in line without a peep, filtering out of the entryway and leaving Bernie and Serena alone outside. 

She studies Serena’s face, tipped up toward her own; smile bright, deepening the lines beside her mouth, crinkling the corners of her sparkling eyes. There’s no censure, no uncertainty, just joy. The feeling wraps around Bernie like a blanket, warming her from the inside. She reaches up to brush a piece of hair from Serena’s forehead.

“Merry Christmas?” Bernie says softly, and it just makes Serena laugh all the harder. Her arms squeeze Bernie tight, closing the space between them.

Serena smiles wide, presses her words against Bernie’s lips. “Merry Christmas.” 


End file.
